Dominion
by Kinar Shadeslayer
Summary: The Lich King has been quiet on his Frozen Throne. His icy voice has not been heard for years. But now . . Cracks have begun to form, both within his throne and the races of Azeroth. His time to act is now. Azeroth must now defend against death itself.


Introduction - It was at night, when this popped into my head. When I couldn't sleep. I suppose it is the theory that all good ideas come at night or in the morning is rather accurate. Why write a story on World of Warcraft you inquire? I most likely probably developed my own story with relative ease. But it would never have the in-depth lore the Warcraft Universe has. It will certaintly add to the depth of mine I hope. Note that this story takes place sometime between The Burning Crusade and Wrath of the Lich King. More closer to the latter although. Note that at times I may deviate from parts of lore so it blends with my doctrine. But it should be very insignificant things.

Hopefully you enjoy this. As it has been the focus of my mind for about two weeks or more. I ask that when you review it, when having something negative to say, provide constructive criticism

And so we go. ^.^

**Chapter One - Motionless**

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It was unusual.

Most certainly.

Certainly most unusual for an individual to be so obsessed over one thing.

Teleara first noticed him when she had completed her shift for the Stormwind Guard. Generally she came down to the Slaughtered Lamb for peace and quiet. And it was usually what she got. Not many liked to drink and 'hang around' above a known Warlock Haven. Warlocks were generally regarded with hate and fear. People rarely met them in the eye, choosing to avoid them entirely. Unfortunately these days that had proved to be trying, but regardless some attempted.

So it was fortunate for her that many had wanted to be oblivious to this area. It was perfect when one wanted silence. Yet that day when she had entered there was an occupant. Perhaps that's what made her notice him initially, he had no disdain for Warlocks. Or perhaps he was one. She was not entirely sure.

His garb consisted of black clothing. A large gilded hood shadowed his face making his features uncertain to all. The rest was skintight black leather, soaking in all the light. Due to it being warm weather, he must have been boiling. Either he had a high tolerance for it, or was oblivious to it.

He sat in a corner, across the tavern from her usual seat, sitting there staring at what appeared to be a blank parchment. He was motionless; it was as though he didn't even breathe. She stood there with an upraised brow, looking at him for a couple of heartbeats before returning to her senses and walking to her usual seat. The Bartender was not present, so she assumed that he was down in the basement conversing with the disdained.

She tried not to look at him, for the longest time. Yet the thought of him kept on nagging at her, demanding to be present in her mind. Eventually it won over, and she glanced up at him. He was still in the same position, motionless. It didn't appear as though he even breathed. He was still there, staring at the same parchment as though it held all of the wonders he desired.

Clearly he was not going to look up, so she stared at him, studying him. He was not particularly tall, perhaps topping 5'10. He was seated with both legs spread apart, his forearms resting on his lower thighs. Clearly he was not uptight. Not one of those foolish nobles appearing to try to actually make it as though they knew something.

It was rather unnerving to be truthful, a lone man not moving. It also made her suspicious. What was on the paper? What made it so important to him?

She left after an hour or so, still puzzling in the Stormwind Barracks that night as to what he was exactly doing. Perhaps if the barman was present tomorrow she would ask him if he knew anything.

Perhaps she shouldn't.

Being a Stormwind Guard demanded that she attend to her duties before returning to the Lamb. Yet it was still fresh in her mind. Teleara generally had an inquisitive nature, always seeking to know everything. At times her curiosity was her downfall. Yet at times it was also her strength.

She strolled around the city occasionally helping a citizen lift a heavy object, or call upon the holy magicks to heal somebody. Being a Paladin certaintly had its advantages. After she was finished she returned to the barracks, stowed her armor away and dressed in her citizens uniform. The woman glanced at herself in the mirror.

She was rather attractive in the opinions of most males. Facially, definitely so. With piercing blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, high cheekbones she was quite often a sought after female. She had turned down, kindly of course, offer after offer. Despite her attractive facial features, apparently she lacked some curves in certain places though. Understandable as she had not fully matured, only being twenty one. She still had a few years to go perhaps. Unless the Gnomes were wrong and Humans matured earlier.

She tighted her leather belt and departed, heading for the tavern. Perhaps she might get another look at him if the Barman wasn't there.

Certainly enough, there he was with his hood and still in the same corner. In the same position.

Motionless.

She glanced over at the Barmen, who glanced up at her. He was rubbing a filthy glass with a rag so dirty that it looked as though the glass was getting dirtier. He wasn't particularly handsome, yet nor was he unpleasant. He was in-between the two.

She inclined her head deeply to him in a signal of hello, and then approaching said softly, "Tell me, do you know who that man is?" She jerked her thumb back to indicate the man, or as she now mentally called him 'The Assassin'. Yes, she used the uncouth term assassin, as he really looked as though he were subtle and deadly.

The man behind the counter frowned deeply saying "Can't say that I do. He has been here for a long time. He left as soon as I closed yesterday. When I opened this morning, I went down into the Warlock's Den to get a keg of beer. When I returned he was sitting there. Rather bizarre, no?"

Teleara nodded thoughtfully. "Do you know anything else?" Rather odd really, a glance behind her shoulder told her that he still had the same parchment of paper in front of him, "Do you know what that parchment is?" Shaking his head in the answer of no. Typically the aura of mystery had not been shed from him. She replied thanks, and then seated herself in the usual position, looking at him.

The grizzled barment eyed the two uncertainly, before shrugging in the sense of "Whatever" and began to dirty his current glass again.

She sat there again, looking at him before leaving in an hour. She had discerned nothing new from today's observation. She think she saw him shift his weight slightly. Or perhaps her mind had only wanted to think that one person could not remain motionless for so long. Either one.

When she returned tomorrow, he was still there, staring at the same parchment, in the same position. In the same seat. She considered speaking to him, but had the impression that he might not respond, or might just rip her head off.

And then, he did something she did not expect.

He moved.

He stood up to be more exact, stood to his full height, hardly making more than a whisper of sound, took his parchment and left the tavern. It was as though he had never been there.

She briefly considered standing up and sprinting after him to demand answered, yet she remained seated. Stunned that after three days he had actually moved. After ten miniutes she finally stood up and stuck her head out the door to see if he had actually gone. He had.

She poked her head back in and after a moment of staring at the chair he had been sitting in, drifted towards it. Running a hand over the rough wood of the chair, she wondered what he had been doing. What was so obsessive about the parchment. There wasn't anything even on it. Did it have magical properties?

She glanced out the door again to the autumn leaves falling from the tall oak trees.

Perhaps she should have followed him.

______________________________________________________________________

It was raining. It hadn't rained so long in Icecrown some of the inhabitants had forgotten what it even was. Snow? They were familiar with it, yet the rain was a new experience for some. It soaked into the wooden homes that the Vrykul had built, and soaked into their long beards.

The Vrykul had become only recently become aligned the Lich King, and as of yet they had served him quite competently for their . . Questionable intelligence. Frankly, he found himself regarding the half-giants with disdain. They were not undead. They could be involved in other activities under the Lich King's nose. Traitors. He suspected they had some malicious scheme planned to overthrow the Lich King. Regardless of whether they did or not, there was little he could do about it. He dare not question the Lich King upon choices.

It was as the thoughts ran through the masked man's mind that he crumpled a paper he held in his right hand. He grunted, and tossed the paper aside. He did not need require its aid anymore. He had reached his destination, the very center of the abyss.

Icecrown Citadel.

The name would give thoughts of a large steely fortress, with huge thick walls, massive front gates and sturdy guard towers. Typically this was not the case however. The Citadel spanned underground, tunnels, hallways. All carved by the Scourge. The citadel had bridges, walkways. All created in a relatively short amount of time. It is amazingly useful when you have the undead as your workers.

The glacier that the Citadel was located on was very impressive as well. It spanned for most of the area known as "Icecrown" and was one of the largest glaciers ever known. He raised a dark brow and chuckled darkly as he recalled a quite from a book he had read long ago . .

"Nothing lives here — the Lich King and his Scourge aren't exactly alive - but the glacier teems with undead creatures. More creatures inhabit this one region than the rest of the continent (Its roughly estimated to have a population of 250,000 beings). All of the beings here are undead, which makes it a really awful place to visit. Still, one must give the Lich King credit. He landed in the coldest part of the coldest continent on Azeroth and figured out a way to get loyal, hardworking servants. Undead don't feel cold. They don't need food or drink. They don't breathe. And they don't get distracted or lazy or bored. No wonder he managed to build his citadel in a few years when it would have taken others decades. All his servants do exactly what he commands, for as long as he requires."

A rather accurate description, if perhaps a little out dated.

It had been awhile ago, since he had heard the call. He had been locked up in his keep at the time, surrounded by his warriors. Plans within plans.

Foolishness.

He had been so busy idling when he could have been working for him all of this time. He chuckled, his breathe visible through the cold means that Icecrown provided. So much time wasted, yet so much time to carry out his will remained.

The thought was still vague although, as though it had been a dream. He pulled out a journal, the ravings of a mad-man, perhaps. Lingering on the cover, he traced a finger over it. He could not read anymore. Since his eyes had been removed by a rather violent means he had to rely upon magicks to see the world. Not in the classical sense perhaps, but at least it was a way of seeing.

Chuckling darkly he remained motionless, a perfect skill, as he recalled his first contact.

Silence. A rarity at times, It was sought after by few surprisingly. The cloaked man would have thought it would be more valuable to most. It was like a jewel, hidden in a treasure chest. It caught your notice, and once you picked it up and held it up to the light. It was beautiful.

Beautiful, some would call believe that an uncouth term to call a thing such as this. But it was the only one in his mind. Then again, his mind was often jumbled and confused.

_A smile tugged at his dry lips as he contemplated a parchment infront of him. It was blank. As it should have been. He had yet to write upon it, so if it were written upon he would have been rather worried._

'_Come to me . . '_

_The hooded man blinked. Unsure of what he had heard. It was like the brush of a whisper against his conciousness. Was his mind playing tricks upon him? It wouldn't have been the first time. He had once promptly removed one of his minions because they had come into contact with his body by accident. Which was unacceptable to him at the time._

_He cackled maliciously at the memory, the voice within his head forgotten for the moment._

'_Come to me . . '_

_The voice had returned, significantly stronger. Now he was alarmed. He stood up. His cloaks swirling about him. He turned his full body around and discovered nothing. "Reveal yourself." He said, chuckling as he was speaking to thin air._

'_Come to me . . and I will show you everything . . .' The voice echoed, stronger. It was ethereal, and stretched. As though butter scraped over too much bread. About to snap any moment._

_Which it did._

_The voice spoke again, echoing so strongly, that he fell to his knees and screamed for all that he was worth. He felt dizzy . . he remembered nefarious magic swirling around his body . . he remembered feeling as though he were about to throw up . . and he remembered the sickening feeling as his bones hardened, and his flesh paled . . he did the only thing that felt right to him_

_He closed his eyes._

_When he stood up, some hours later. He felt different, and compelled. He glanced into a mirror, and found his eyes a sickening shade of blue._

_The blue-eyed man walked closer, touching his now pale face. It was cold and hard. No thoughts came to his head. But to head north, he should go north. _

_He swiveled around in a full 360 and started for his thick wooden door. He smashed the lock on it with a bare fist; it crumbled to pieces before his eyes. Throwing open the wooden door he started for the exit of his domain. _

_This place had been his for all of the long years. It had given him comfort, kept him from despairing. He would have never departed willingly before. Yet now he gave not a thought but to go north._

_Always north._

_* * *_

His eyes opened slowly. Memories were such delicate things, so easily erased. This was the only one he could remember. Despite living a lifetime, or what he believed to be one, he only had one memory. Interesting . .

Regardless, it had nothing to do with his ultimate goal, his burning desire. It was irrelevant; he discarded it as such, putting it away within the deepest parts of his mind. His lips curled in a malicious smile. Now he was the ideal servant. He would gain his master's favor, destroying all. Whatever he required.

The snow had stopped to a slow fall, so slow he could see individual flakes. He moved, a thing so odd for him. Rarely did he move in sudden movements, but at this time he did discarding the Journal and leaving for it to rot in the snow.

He did not move again for a long time.


End file.
